slip your hand inside my glove
by jonimitchell
Summary: He pulls away, and her fingers still on the base of his neck, squeezing his tee shirt, and her smile's all coy and cute and he thinks he is probably going to marry her right here and now. AU


_i_.

He's totally over Quinn. Like, okay, she cheated on him, fine, whatever, he didn't like her all that much, anyways. It's really just his pride that's hurt – and _come on_, she was his first girlfriend, and the most popular girl at the school, and they were supposed to be perfect together.

But whatever. He's got other options. In fact, he's so overjoyed at being a single dude again that he throws a party, and tells his step-brother, Kurt, to invite as many people as he wants. Their parents are gone for a week, so why shouldn't they throw a huge party?

By ten, he's eye-crossing drunk, and he doesn't really care that Quinn is under Puck's arm, cause he's seen this really pretty girl that he sort of recognizes and he clambers over to her, pushing over random freshmen that have somehow weaseled into his party. "Hi," he says loudly. She's leaning against the wall, hair long and dark and tumbling over her shoulders.

"Hi, Finn," she responds, and _oh_, it's Rachel, that's why he kinda recognizes her, it's Rachel and she's _so_ pretty tonight. "Thank you."

"Did I say that out loud?"

Giggling, she nods. She must be drunk, too, because whenever he sees her she doesn't really pay much attention to him and he's never understood why that is. "Nice party, Finn."

"Thanks," he responds. Somehow, his hand lands on her shoulder. "You look different tonight."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?"

"I don't know," he answers, and his throat feels all thick and his stomach feels like it's flopping over inside of him, and his goddamn heart thrums wildly in his chest and she's always pretty, really, but at school she wears these sweaters and high-waisted skirts with her hair straight but tonight her hair is all wavy and she's wearing this pretty dress and he wants to know everything about her.

Like why she has that scar beneath her chin, or who gave her the pretty star necklace she always wears. He wants to hear her whisper her dreams against his neck and tell him all the reasons why she is the way she is, he wants to know Rachel Berry more than he already does.

"A compliment, then," she decides. Her teeth are really white beneath her full rosy lips, and he's never really noticed how nice her smile was before tonight. He's never noticed _anything_ about her before tonight and he wishes he had.

"Are you in the musical?"

"No," she responds, shaking her head, "the role was between my friend Mercedes and me, and I bequeathed it to her."

"Oh, that's uh—" He doesn't know what that word means. "Real nice of you."

She shrugs. "She's better than me."

"I doubt it."

"You've never even heard me sing."

He shakes his head. "Uh-uh."

"When?" She challenges him with one eyebrow raised, and maybe she isn't as drunk as he thought because she seems so coherent while he feels like every word he speaks comes out a little clumsier than the last, like his lips are beginning to forget how to say things that aren't _mhm _and _uh huh_.

"Karaoke night?" His hand that was on her shoulder traces down her arm, before slipping beneath her elbow and grasping her waist. "Kurt _is_ my brother."

Her cheeks bloom with a rosy hue, and he smiles dopily at her. "I was not aware you were ever home for that."

"You're the best I've ever heard."

She shakes her head. They're silent, but for the booming music behind them, pulsing the ground beneath their feet, and his fingers are still pressing against her waist. His other hand joins it, so that he's holding her around the waist. "Finn," she whispers, "you have a girlfriend."

"No," he responds in a low tone and somehow he doesn't feel as drunk with his face this close to hers, and he isn't thinking about a cheap thing like _status_ or his ex-girlfriend across the room. All he thinks about is Rachel, and her mouth, and the way it would feel against his own.

He finds himself leaning in, eyes locked on hers. His nose brushes against hers, eyes still open, and he isn't sure if he kisses her or she him, but somehow, his lips mold to hers and yeah, he never felt like this kissing Quinn.

It's new, exciting, takes his breath away. The world melts around them, the pulsing of the bass transforms into the pulsing of his heart in time with hers. He pulls away, and her fingers still on the base of his neck, squeezing his tee shirt, and her smile's all coy and cute and he thinks he is probably going to marry her right here and now.

_ii_.

They don't talk about the kiss after that. It's a non-equity, or whatever, and it never happened. But like, he wants to remember it. Wants to remember her. Actually, he's torn. He wants to remember her, and the way her dark hair spilled over his fingers, but he also wants to erase her mark on his heart.

He sees her at her locker one morning, a month or so after his party, and they've done a good job of being acquaintances. After all, that's just what they are—only familiar with one another's mouths. He plucks up the courage to talk to her, finally, and ambles over to her locker. "Hi."

She looks up at him, straight hair falling over her shoulder, and she smiles tightly at him. "Hello, Finn."

His lips take control, hand in hand with his heart, when he asks, "You wanna—you wanna get dinner with me on Saturday?"

She puts her hand on his forearm, shaking her head slowly, and his heart plummets. "Oh, Finn, don't you know? I don't date football players."

_iii_.

He's gonna change her mind. Like, he is going to be so charming and nice to her and she won't be able to help herself before she's in love with him. He's got a plan. Obviously, he's gotta start with _friendship_.

They have the same free period. He usually spends it in the cafeteria, goofing off with his friends, but one day he finds her in the library and that is where he spends the rest of his free periods. "You can be friends with a football player, right?"

"I don't have any qualms about it," she responds slowly.

And so their friendship begins – tentatively. He doesn't spend time with her outside of school, and the time they do spend together is their forty-five minute free period. He likes her. She's funny without meaning to be, and ambitious enough for their entire class. He's inspired to get out of Lima because of her, and starts working just a little harder in school so he has the opportunity to in the future.

He's starting to get that familiar fluttering feeling in his stomach. It climbs up his esophagus and settles in his heart. He tries to ignore it. To no avail, of course, it's like Rachel has sewn herself in with resilient fibers.

He likes napping on Saturday afternoons. Especially if his football game the night before goes wrong, which it does ninety percent of the time. Their team isn't what you'd call _good_, or even, like, functioning. He's a good quarterback, that much he knows, as arrogant as it sounds. He could carry the team if they had a good enough coach.

But yeah. Saturday naps are totally his thing. And this particular Saturday, he sinks into sleep just after three in the afternoon, tumbling into oblivion where nothing exists beyond him and Rachel, and yeah, so what if he dreams about her? Doesn't mean he likes her or anything.

Rachel is sleeping over his house, something he doesn't realize until he goes to the kitchen to get something to eat and finds her, sitting on the counter, wearing these pajama pants with little polka dots and a matching tank top and she's the cutest actual thing. He's shirtless, and blushes when he steps into the light.

But she smiles at him and pats the stool beside him and talks to him about the merits of drinking hot tea compared to coffee, and he isn't really paying attention to her words but the shape of her lips as she says them. So entranced with her lips he is, that he leans in and presses his mouth against hers.

Yeah, he's breaking all their friendship rules. Every one of them. This kiss is a wrecking ball to their friendship, but he doesn't really care. Her hand rests on his cheek, thumb caressing his jaw, and she tastes like tea and talent and _Rachel_ and everything good in the world in one girl. He smiles when they pull away, and she scrunches her nose with her hand still on his face. "You taste like Oreos."

"Um—"

"Those aren't vegan," she murmurs. Her forehead is a smooth expanse of open skin and he can't stop himself from kissing it.

"Do you care?"

She doesn't answer, but he doesn't think she does, especially since she starts kissing him again.

_iv_.

He doesn't know what they're doing. He doesn't know what they are. At school, they avoid each other except for in between classes when he sometimes pulls her into an empty hallway to kiss her, or during their free period, which they spend in the corner of the library that not even the librarians go in.

She comes over a lot, too, like when Kurt and Burt and Finn's mom are out, they spend that time kissing and learning and sometimes talking. She perches on his chest, chin balanced atop her folded hands, and smiles at him. He's so tired. Their old coach had a mental breakdown, so the principal hired this lady named Beiste who actually takes football seriously, and enforces strict rules fat every practice.

But he has a feeling that they'll win their game on Friday.

"What's your dream?" Rachel asks, still perched on his chest, smiling softly. "Where do you see yourself in ten years?"

"Hmm," he hums. He licks his lips. "NFL, maybe."

"Yeah?"

He rolls them so that she's on her back, and begins kissing her neck. "Yeah."

They don't talk for the rest of the afternoon.

_v_.

Everything falls to shit. Basically, Puck is a douche bag, shoves Rachel into a locker, and Finn doesn't do anything. Queue the end of their…whatever. "Rachel," he pleads, reaching across the desk in the library to grasp her chin, coaxing her to look at him. I'm sorry."

"Oh, I'm sorry, do I know you?" She's bitter.

"Rachel, _please_."

"Sorry, Finn. Apparently letting you shove your tongue down my throat doesn't constitute you stopping your asshole friends from pushing me around."

His heart swells and breaks all in one moment, and he can't say anything other than _I'm sorry Rachel I'm so so sorry_ and she's got tears in her eyes and that makes him feel even worse somehow.

"You broke my heart," she says, all quietly, and he reaches across the table to – to hold her, maybe, but she recoils. "We're—Finn, we…we can't be friends anymore. We can't be _anything_. I don't date football players for a reason."

He only manages to whisper her name, and she stands up and looks like she wants to run away from him, and at the same time into his arms. Her mouth presses against his forehead for one long second, and she pulls away.

This hurts more than Quinn cheating, hurts more than anything in the world. And, fuck, he thinks he loves her, even a little bit, he actually loves this girl and he's already ruined everything.

_vi_.

He misses her. He sees her at school and has to stop himself from grabbing her hand, and they never held hands before at school but he wants to now, he wants to parade her around the school because he loves her and he's proud of her. She doesn't even look at him anymore.

He plays shitty games enough so that Coach threatens to kick him off the team, which is like the worst imaginable fate, so he funnels all this _feeling_ into football and they win they actually win and he just wants to run to Rachel and pick her up and swing her around and kiss her until they can't breathe.

He's good at ruining things, he's realized. Good at making girls hate him. Quinn hates him, because he made out with Rachel at that party in front of everyone, which embarrassed her, or something – she sent him a stupid Facebook message that said so – but he doesn't care about Quinn anymore. Except she's giving him those _looks_ again, like she wants to date him again, but she cheated on him she went all the way with another dude and she wouldn't even let him touch her ass.

Rachel let him touch her ass like a week into their making out. That's it, though, no boobs or anything else but like man, he likes Rachel's butt.

That's irrelevant now, of course. He sees her and she sees him but they go back to not actually _seeing_ each other. He pretends he doesn't know her and vice versa and he hates that this has happened because besides making out and stuff she was (is) his best friend in the entire world.

She gets him, like, doesn't ask him why he likes _Fight Club_ more than _Braveheart_ but says he just doesn't get the former, and she knows that he loves his mom more than anything and at first he wasn't happy about her and Burt but now he understands everything, and she doesn't ask him about his dad because she knows it hurts too much without him saying anything at all. It's the same for her. She doesn't want to talk about her mom, and she likes _Funny Girl_ more than _West Side Story_ for hundreds of reasons and she has playbills in a drawer beside her bed that she doesn't talk about and she has dreams of stardom that she thinks are probably never going to get realized.

He thinks she's the most talented singer in the world. She disagrees.

But now it doesn't matter that he knows her better than anyone. Because he fucked up. He ruined _everything_.

_vii_.

It's the biggest game of the year, and he's so fucking nervous. They win this game, they go on to the next round, and he wants to win so bad he can taste it.

Something feels off, but he ignores it. And he plays so well, it's one of his best games, and his team is actually a team for once and he isn't even thinking about Rachel tonight, the first night in a long time, and he is about to intercept a pass when a giant player knocks him down, and he can feel his knee _pop_ like this big crack that echoes in the stadium and _fuckfuckfuck_ it hurts so bad he passes out.

_viii_.

He wakes up in a room that is not is own, with soft blue walls and a down comforter and a huge, king sized bed, and he's not alone _he is not alone_. There's a girl beside him, lying on her stomach, and his hand is actually intertwined with hers beneath the covers. She stirs slightly, burrows further into the covers, and squeezes his hand. Her hair is long, dark, spread across her bare back, and he peaks beneath the covers and – _they are both naked_.

What the fuck? The last he remembers is his knee popping and the crack of bone heard 'round the world. But here he is now, and he runs his hand down his face only to feel cool metal from a _wedding ring_ and he must have somehow transported into the future, like _Back to the Future Part IV_ or something like that and where's Doc Brown?

The girl rolls onto her side, tugging his hand to her chest, and his breath catches in his throat _– it's Rachel_. He's married to Rachel. She smiles slightly, puts his hand on her breast, and sighs, inching closer to him. "Finn," she murmurs, and her eyes flutter, and _fuck_ this is the first time he's ever felt breasts and he doesn't even know what to do.

"Um—morning," he mumbles, and she cuddles into his side, mouth pressing a kiss to his jaw.

"Morning, honey." Her hand slides down his bare chest, resting on the plane of his stomach, and he sighs, feeling himself react to her. "I should go check on Lily."

_Lily_? What the fuck? She kisses his lips, hard, and climbs out of bed and pulls on a shirt that looks like something he would wear, and steps into some underwear. He watches her leave, and lays on his back, and he can't even keep his eyes open for long before he's falling asleep, and the next thing he hears is that same familiar voice, "_Wake up, Finn, please, Finn, wake up, we miss you—I miss you_."

_ix_.

He wakes up in a different room and knows immediately it is reality. He feels his mom's fingers laced through his. He lets out a soft sigh and shifts, wincing at the sharp pain that shoots up his leg with the movement. After three long moments, he manages to open his eyes very briefly only for them to close again at the harsh glare of the sterile hospital room.

"Finn?" He barely manages to wet his lips, eyes struggling against the bright white of the room. "Oh, baby Finn."

He blinks, and his head feels to heavy to turn as his mother turns to the couch behind her, nudging whoever lies there – Burt probably – to tell them that yes, Finn is still alive. But she doesn't call Burt's name. Instead, "Rachel? Honey, Finn's awake."

_Rachel_? For a moment, he panics, and he _must_ still be in utopia-ville where everything is perfect, because last he remembers from _reality_ is Rachel hating him because he was the worst quasi-boyfriend in the world.

But he hears her voice, shaky, garbled with sleep, and then she joins his mother at the bedside, index finger running over the top of his hand. A soft smile curls her lips. "Finn," she breathes, "I was so worried."

He manages a smile that feels more like a grimace, and shifts. A doctor enters, spits a load of medical jargon at him and his mother, asks Finn a million questions, and by the time he leaves, Finn falls asleep.

_x_.

He'll be able to walk again, after surgery and weeks of physical therapy, but with a solemn set to his lips the doctor tells him he probably shouldn't play football seriously anymore. He's never felt his entire world funnel into one moment, but it does, and all he imagines is staying here in Lima, alone, working at Burt's garage and getting a beer belly and he knows it's possible to be happy in Lima but he can't help but imagine otherwise.

Rachel visits everyday; some days they just sit in silence with their hands clasped atop the blankets. Other days, they watch television, and one day he manages to convince her to sing for him and it's the most beautiful sound in the world. If he didn't love her completely before, he does now.

His surgery is scheduled for one early morning, and it's gray and gloomy outside. He's feeling really fucking scared because he's never had surgery before, but Rachel's there, eyes drawn, and she looks so, so tired, but she manages to smile and calm him down a little.

They're getting down to the wire, and the doctor comes in, and he squeezes Rachel's hand and says _bye_ and like hey what if he dies while they're fixing his knee? Then what? He'll never get to tell her he loves her. "Rachel, I—" Okay, he kinda feels his throat close up with tears and since when does he fucking _cry_?

She cuts him off by kissing him very, very gently and pulls away to smile softly at him, and then kisses him again. "Bye, Finn. I'll see you this afternoon."

_xi_.

School is terrifying. First, he has to spend, like, a month in a wheelchair. The school isn't wheelchair accessible, which he knows, because Rachel's friend Artie Abrams always gets wheeled around and helped and stuff. Artie's nice. But he wants Rachel to wheel him around and help him.

She kissed him. But he doesn't know how to get her to do it again. He wants her to do it again, because he likes her (loves her, even) and now she's got the height advantage.

They spend a lot of time together, too. She helps him study, and for once, his grades are _improving_. Also improving is his leg strength, and before he knows it, a month has passed and he's got one final appointment to determine his walking status.

To celebrate, he rolls up to Rachel's locker before fifth period. "Hi," he greets, putting his hand in hers, and she turns and smiles and his heart does that fluttering thing he's gotten so accustomed to.

"Hi."

"Want a lift?"

Laughing, she lowers herself into his lap, mindful of his knee, and they ride off to class.

_xii_.

Spring blooms earlier than usual that year. It's warm outside, and he drives Rachel home from school with the windows down everyday, loud music blasting, and _this_ has to be what real love and happiness are.

He starts to love Saturday afternoons. Kurt has work in the afternoons, so Finn gets unsolicited Rachel-time. They're still _just friends_ even though they hold hands and she sometimes kisses him on the mouth when he drops her off. They don't talk about it.

And it's warm, still, this sunny April afternoon. They lean against an oak tree in her backyard that's just begun to sprout its leaves, and the sun is warm on his skin but warmer where she runs her fingers over. She likes to read to him, from books of poetry to prose that go right over his head – he just likes the sound of her voice.

It grows soft, her voice, shy, when she turns the page and reads the next poem, "_I like my body when it is with your body. It is so quite a new thing. Muscles better and nerves more_."

She takes a breath, and he takes the opportunity to kiss _her_; for once, he makes the first move and presses his mouth against hers. She's caught off guard, gasps, but the book of poetry falls to the ground beside her as she clasps her hand over his on her face, while her other hand squeezes the fabric of his shirt.

"That wasn't supposed to happen," she mumbles, her breath hot against his ear. He kisses her again, anyway, softer this time, and his heart beats a sixty-four count beat against his ribcage. She's wearing a pretty white summer dress, stark against the green around her as he places her very gently on the ground.

When he's breathless, lungs desperate for air, he rolls onto the grass beside her, staring up at the blue sky. She turns on her side and stares. "Finn?"

"Huh?"

"I'm in love with you." The world falls silent but for a robin singing a love song in the tree above them, and he swears he can feel the earth in its orbit around the sun.

"Rachel," he says softly. He scoots closer to her. "I am so in love with you."

She smiles, and he kisses her again.

_xiii_.

They fight a lot in the early days of the summer before their junior year. Finn works, like, all day everyday, and she's always volunteering at the JCC, and they don't spend as much time together as they'd idealized when they'd mapped out their plans in May.

He doesn't want to break up with her. He's sick of fighting, and sick of missed dates, and sick of feeling like she doesn't want him. He's considering ending it on his lunch break one balmy day in July when someone taps his shoulder, and he smiles slightly because it's _Rachel_. Of course.

She sits delicately on his thigh and steals bits of his lunch, and he wonders why she's here, but doesn't dare ruin the soft silence that falls over the auto shop. They don't really talk for the rest of the afternoon, either. He likes the silence (not as much as he likes her voice).

With her presence, all thoughts of ending it disappear, and it's almost like that thought never flourished at all, in fact, it's more like they've both taken turns to stomp it, pulverize it till it's nothing but sand eroding away (but in their haste, they never uprooted it).

His shift comes to an end, and he grasps Rachel's hand and stares for a moment, at her clean, dainty hand encompassed by his, with smudges of grease, so large compared to hers.

They walk outside, and it's so hot, and she licks her lips and pulls her hair into a ponytail, and he doesn't really have any explanation for why he presses her against her truck other than that he wants to. She laughs nonetheless, threading her fingers in his hair, and he can feel her smile against his mouth and that's all he really wants, to make her smile forever.

_xiv_.

"I think we should have sex."

He spits out his drink. "Excuse me?"

"I think we should have sex."

"Um." He can't breathe. Is it hot in here? He's fucking sweating like he's in a sweat lodge or something and like – he cannot _breathe_. His lungs have lost all connection to his body. Is this really how he wants to die? How pathetic, he thinks, he's going to die in a fucking restaurant because his girlfriend suggested having relations of a sexual kind to him. Finally, he manages, sputtering, "When?"

She smoothes her fingers over her skirt, and looks up at him, determined set to her mouth. "Tomorrow. My dads will be out of town, and I think the timing is right. We've been dating all summer, and I love you."

"O-okay."

Something doesn't feel right, especially when she doesn't IM him for their nightly chat, and he tries calling her, but she doesn't pick up. He's really nervous, knee bouncing in the truck as he drives over to her house. Summer is winding down, the earth barrels towards fall and school and his junior year of high school.

It's like she's trying to cling to him, to bind them together when he already knows they're gonna be together forever. Doesn't she feel the tether?

It still doesn't feel right when Rachel requests that he unzip her dress, eyes all coquette and sweet, and if he didn't know her as well as he does, he'd think she wanted this. He opens his mouth to protest, but she kisses him, hard and fast, and her tongue slides into his mouth and she feels like summer rain and tastes like strawberries, and he doesn't stop kissing her as they move towards the bed, and he pulls away for breath and to search her face, and she's got her eyes screwed shut and he knows this isn't right.

"Rachel," he says quietly, "I don't think I'm ready."

"What?" She snaps, eyes popping open. "Yes you are."

"No," he moves away from her, "I'm not. And you aren't either. C'mon, baby. You aren't ready for this."

She takes her bottom lip into her mouth and tugs her knees against her chest, and she's so, so lovely, dress halfway down her torso, and he tries not to stare _too_ much at her but he can't really help it when her boobs are just, like, there. "I, um…" She breathes in shakily, and he sits beside her. "I just have this feeling."

"'Bout what?"

"I – I feel like I'm going to lose you this year, Finn."

He kisses her temple. "You won't."

"You can't promise that." But she's smiling.

"Yes, I can."

_xv_.

They break up before Christmas. He's super stressed, keeping up with helping Coach Beiste with football and basketball and working everyday, and Rachel, he loves her, but she's fairly high maintenance _and_ he has to keep up his schoolwork 'cause he's going to college in two years. And, okay, his temper kinda explodes like lava bubbling and spewing all over, and he's a little disgusted in the things that come from his mouth, tongue lashing caustically against his teeth.

They've been fighting a lot, over stupid things, and this argument is especially dumb. He didn't stop by her locker in the morning or something, and he didn't even think about it, but apparently he deeply offended her or something. Regardless, it escalates, and he and Rachel are in a full-throttle shouting match in her bedroom and he wonders idly if her dads can hear and hate him for making their daughter act like this, for making her cry, even if it's out of anger.

He's never talked to her like this. She's never looked at him like _that_. They're coming apart at the seams.

And then, the words just slip out of him, weightless and curving like smoke, "Well, maybe we should just break up." He hates how his voice sounds, cold, detached, like he hasn't been so in love for an entire year that's felt like a thousand.

"What?"

He doesn't back down, doesn't say anything, only crosses his arms and stares at her. It's her decision, now, he thinks, up to her whether they go on or they stop short here. They could last forever, probably. More than forever. Wait, no, forever's like the longest thing, but yeah. They could get married.

But he's ruined that, of course, with his temper and stubbornness, and she turns her eyes to him and for the first time since last December, her eyes are cold when they turn to his. "Fine. Please, leave."

_xvi_.

He didn't think it'd be hard. Or, like, permanent. But she doesn't talk to him at school, avoids him when she hangs out with Kurt, and when he calls her, she ignores them. He just wants her back. Christmas break looms, and he'd expected to spend the two _whole_ weeks wrapped up in blankets with her or playing in the snow, but she doesn't even look at him anymore.

He drinks a little too much at a party over break and calls Rachel. "_Finn_?" He sighs when he hears her voice, sweet and a little confused in his ear and she doesn't sound mad like she did for so long in the finale of their relationship.

"Baby," he sighs, sitting back in the couch, his index finger tracing the lip of the glass bottle.

"_Finn_," she chastises, warm voice reproving and still gentle and he sighs again because he still loveloveloves her. "_I know you do, Finn_."

Did he say that out loud? She laughs softly, and he wishes he were sitting beside her so he could feel her smile against his jaw, breath warm against his ear as the sound lilts from her throat. "Please take me _back_."

"_I can't. We need – we – I need some time to be…single_."

"Why?"

"_I just…do. You really hurt me. Please, Finn. Don't fight me on this._"

"Merry Christmas." She's Jewish.

"_Happy Hanukah_." It's silent, and she's hung up, and he just sits there with his phone in his hands.

He doesn't know why he broke up with her. If he could, he'd hop in a time machine with Doc Brown and travel back to the precise moment the idea slinked into his brain, black and seductive. His reputation would improve, of course, and has since the breakup, and, uh, he has free time but he isn't so sure that's all worth losing Rachel, both as his girlfriend and as his best friend.

Plus, he, like, loves her, and all that. He wants to call her again, but knows better, and slides his phone back into his pocket.

_xvii_.

She's wearing the prettiest dress when he sees her for the first time in two weeks when they come back to school. She's standing at her locker, and her hair is shorter, bangs brushed aside, and his feet carry him habitually to her side. "Hi," he greets, fingers brushing her bare bicep.

She freezes, turns, and smiles tightly at him. "Hello, Finn."

And then he remembers. _Oh, yeah. The breakup_. "I'm – um – I'm sorry."

He doesn't know what he's apologizing for.

She doesn't either.

He squeezes her shoulder and turns around, heading the opposite way down the hall.

_xviii_.

In homeroom, Principle Figgins announces that McKinley High will, in fact, be putting on a spring musical. Finn can practically hear Rachel's excited squeal from rooms away. She'll never admit it, but she's disappointed that she didn't get Maria in _West Side Story_ last year. He only picks up on her disappointment because he can read her so well, and she loves singing 'I Feel Pretty' in the car with him (or she used to) and he knows that passion for singing only wants to burst on stage.

If he could, he would bribe the director to cast Rachel in the lead role, but he wants her to get that role because she deserves it (she does). He sees her sign up to audition and smiles to himself. Kurt helps her with her song, inviting her over to their house every afternoon. Finn would complain but he gets to hear Rachel singing just one room over, and he isn't upset at all.

Kurt reveals at dinner one night that the cast list goes up the next day after school, and Finn pockets the information for later. He's totally cheering on Rachel, and he doesn't even need to ask for Kurt to tell him that he's ninety nine percent sure she'll get her lead this year. Finn only smiles into his dinner.

Kurt, though, the ever curious, knocks on his door as Finn's closing his pre calculus textbook. He's giving up on logs. "Care for a lady chat?"

Without answering, Finn takes the warm milk and sits on the end of the bed. Kurt joins, and after a few moments of silence, finally turns and speaks. "So, about you and Rachel."

He pauses. "What _about_ us?"

"You love her." Finn blinks. "She loves you."

"Yes. Maybe. I don't know."

"You love her?" Finn nods. "I _know_ she loves you. So…"

"So, what?" Kurt is impossibly difficult when he wants to be.

"Why aren't you two together?"

"Um." He doesn't really know the answer to that.

_xix_.

Finn makes it a point to linger after school the next day. He's nervous as the clock ticks closer and closer to three pm, and he's got his last class – chemistry II – with Rachel, and he sees her from across the classroom drumming her fingers on her desk. They're still lab partners, but she doesn't really talk to him during labs, and that's not really important right now.

He manages to catch her eye and send an encouraging smile, and the shaky stretch of her lips makes his heart pound even harder. She's _so_ good, and he wants her to get the part. She deserves the world. Truly.

Finally finally finally the bell rings, sending a jolt down his spine that sends him to his feet, and he's chasing after her. He may be bigger, but she's faster, and manages to race down the hall before him. She skids to a halt before the list, and her reaction tells him _nothing_ until he reaches the list, a little out of breath. She's simply standing, staring at the list, and he glances at it (_Rachel Berry as Maria_) and she's kind of white and maybe she'll faint? He puts his hands on her waist to ensure that she doesn't, and the feel of his hands on his body shocks her out of her trance, and she hugs him _so_ tightly and so spontaneously that he nearly falls to the ground with the onslaught of her body on his. He's so glad to share this moment with her, her first starring role and in one of her '_top fifteen musicals_', _The Sound of Music_.

She's happy. He's happy. She hugs him again. He kisses her cheek. He puts her back on her feet and squeezes her shoulder. "I knew you could do it."

"Really?"

He smiles and kisses her forehead. If he could, he'd kiss her all over, but this will have to do. "Really. I'll see you, Rachel. Congratulations, you truly honestly deserve it."

He wants to tell her he loves her; that his heart is inexplicably tethered to hers and their separation has only emphasized that fact. But he doesn't. He only runs his fingers down to her hand, squeezes once, and turns away.

_xx_.

"Hi," Rachel sings happily, leaning against the locker beside them. Surprised, he turns, and smiles.

"Hey," he responds. "What—what's up?"

"Um," she's still smiling, "nothing. I don't know if you have it on your calendar, or anything, but – "

"Your show is tonight," he finishes. "Don't worry, Rach. I've got it circled in red ink, with gold stars surrounding it."

She grins. "Can I walk you to history?"

Laughing, he nods. Okay, things have gotten better. She's been busy with the show, he's been busy with working and school, and they _aren't_ dating, but they're friends again. They sit at lunch together sometimes, and other days they work in the library, and she talks to him in chemistry, now, not because she has to, but because she wants to. It's taken far too long, but he feels like they're finally on their way back to where he wants to be.

She slips her arm into his and prattles on and on about the show, things she's already told him but he's happy to hear again, and before he knows it, they're at the door to his classroom. She stands on her tiptoes, presses her mouth daintily against his cheek, and flounces down the hallway.

He gets the prettiest bouquet of flowers he can afford, and wears his best shirt, and he's ready for her show. His mom goes with him – totally lame – and she's so excited she could burst. Whatever the fuck _that_ means.

And, of course, she's amazing. She completely blows the entire theater away, and during intermission the auditorium buzzes with compliments for her. His chest swells with pride, because, hey – that's his girl, and she's completely fantastic marvelous beautiful talented. She's everything.

He waits in the lobby anxiously, watching as other cast members trickle out, and he makes sure to tell Blaine, Kurt's new boyfriend, good job, because, hey, he was pretty good, even _if_ he got to kiss his girl.

Finally, he sees Rachel, and she's grinning and she knows just how fucking talented he is. That's one of the best parts about Rachel, he thinks, her undulating confidence in everything she does. Her dads get to her first, of course, both wet-eyed and beaming as they hand Rachel bouquets.

She spots him next and hugs him with one arm, the other arm full of flowers, and kisses him soundly on the lips. "Rachel," he breathes, "you were – you're just so – "

He's struck speechless, and with a confident smile, she takes her flowers and agrees, "I know. Thanks for coming, Finn."

"Of course." He feels this, like, torrent of emotions come over him for this girl, so tiny and petite, and he wants to tell her everything, about how he misses singing with her in his truck, or even their spats about fiction versus nonfiction, and _god_, he loves her so much he might burst, and she's talking, but he isn't really hearing anything except for the beat of his heart in timed syncopation with hers.

_xxi_.

Kurt tells him he's being dumb. He and Rachel could be together. And, yeah, he knows, but he doesn't want to fuck this thing up _again. _If they're gonna be together again, it's gotta be forever, 'cause he can't take not being with her when he knows he knows he _knows_ they're meant to be.

So, he devises a plan to ask her to prom. It's junior prom, but people still _care_ – enough for Quinn and Puck to campaign for prom king and queen – so he might as well go. He bakes these vegan cookies Rachel really likes and frosts one with _prom?_ written on it in pink icing. Kurt breaks into her locker and puts the cookies inside.

He sees Rachel at her locker when she receives them, notes the way her face lights up then furrows in confusion, and she looks all around her but doesn't spot him leaning against his locker down the hall. He's about to go over to her to reveal his identity, when Jacob Ben Israel of all people approaches her.

She doesn't need his help, because Ben Israel gets a Rachel Berry smack down that must cut him deep as he slinks away, back to wherever he hides out during the day. Unfortunately for Finn, Rachel spots him, and pokes him in the chest. "Do you know who asked me to prom? Was it Sam?"

"_Sam_?" He's surprised that she doesn't know it's him, frankly, but a little delighted at the prospect of playing dumb. "Maybe. I dunno, Rachel. Can I have a cookie?"

"No!" She pulls them from his grasp. "They're mine." Nervously, she licks her lips and stares at Finn. "So, um, who do you think you'll take to prom?"

"Not sure," he lies. "But there's one girl I've had my eye on."

"Ooh! Who?" If he didn't know better, he wouldn't detect the slight clench of her jaw or the quick twist of her smile, but he knows Rachel.

"I'll tell you later, all right?" He smiles. "Let's go to chemistry, huh?"

_xxii_.

She punches him when she finds out he's the one who asked her to prom, when he reveals himself at the end of the week. "You asshole! You know, I nearly sprouted a _gray hair_ over this nonsense! It's your entire fault! I hate you! The answer is _no_, by the way, I will not go to prom with you, because you, my friend, are a jackass."

"Oh, come on, Rachel. Can't you take a little romance?"

At his words, she smiles and puts her hand on his arm. "I guess I'll go with you. Unless I get a better offer."

"I hope you're kidding."

She bites her bottom lip and nods. "Yes, of course I am. I'd love to go to prom with you."

_xxiii_.

His index finger traces her collarbone, feeling the soft skin and the cool of the silver chain beneath his fingerprint. It's a necklace he'd given them for their six month anniversary, a simple jewel attached to a silver chain, but it's her birthstone, so she loves it all the more. "I'm glad you asked me to prom," she says softly, words muffled slightly by the material of his dress shirt, and he squeezes her waist, clad in a soft pink dress that has to be the prettiest color he's ever seen.

"I'm glad you accepted," he responds, just as quietly, and tugs the end of her ponytail gently. He twirls her, and tugs her back, and it's graceful until she stumbles and crashes into his chest.

"You're going to have to learn to dance better," she mumbles.

"For what?"

"For next year's prom, silly! And our wedding, of course."

They freeze. "Our – our _what_?"

"Never mind!" He wants to mind, though, he wants to mind so badly he might just propose to her right _now_, when they're both seventeen years old, because he just wants _her_.

"Rachel," he murmurs throatily, and her eyes blaze ever so slightly, shining and a little nervous, and his hand caresses her cheek.

He has to decide how he wants to do this. It's their first _real_ kiss since breaking up, and he knows she wants to as badly as he does. Should he move in slow before kissing her, or – and what should he do with his hands? Should he –

Impatient, Rachel stands on her very tiptoes and kisses him roughly, eliciting a gasp from his unprepared mouth. Nonetheless, he falls into his task easily, like it _hasn't_ been nearly six months since the last time he did this. His tongue dips into her mouth and she tastes like stars and sunshine in a meadow, and the whole world melts around them, hot and molten, and she's all he thinks of, just Rachel and her sweet lips pressing against his, and her small hand around his neck, the other grasping his hand.

He breaks away, and her smile beams, effervescent, and he's never been so happy as when she laces both their hands together and says, "Want to get out of here?"

Of course he does.

It's such a cliché, but when they get to his house, he swings her into his arms and carries her to his room. Deposited on the bed, she tugs him by his tie, lips fusing together as their legs tangle atop the rumpled sheets. She sighs his name in the sweetest voice, curls her fingers on his shoulders, and tells him she's ready, now, she really _wants this_, "I love you," and who is he to deny her?

He kisses her, a little more than nervous, fingers shaking as they squeeze her waist, and he wants this to be special for her, _so_ special, so he pulls away and plugs his iPod in, choosing Rachel's favorite instrumental piece and she smiles so tenderly at him from the bed and stands and unties her hair from the knot at the nape of her neck.

The dress is so lovely, but he thinks it's time for a change of scenery – for the both of them – and he unzips her dress while she unties his tie, and her fingers are shaking as they unbutton his dress shirt and he's nervous, too, he tells her, kissing the junction of her shoulder and neck, a little crevice that his teeth have always liked to nip at.

It's a little awkward, at first, seeing one another dressed in so little, but she smiles, and he smiles, and she kisses him. They're silent but for soft moans and sighs that escape their lips as they explore expanses of skin they've never felt before, with their tongues and teeth, and he hooks his fingers in the edge of her panties and pulls them down.

She kisses him again, her hands on his jaw, his fingers unclasping her bra, and she's naked under him and she guides his fingers to the junction of her thighs, and he doesn't know what he's doing at _all_, but Rachel's eyes are screwed shut in pleasure, and she sighs and moans and calls his name, and she _must_ have come, or else she wouldn't look at him like he hung the moon.

It's quick from there. His tongue finds solace in the valley of her breasts while she catches her breath, and before he knows it, he's brushing back her hair from her face and murmuring _rachelareyousure_, and she kisses _yes_ on his mouth, but her fingers dig into his shoulder a little painfully when he pushes into her, and she bites her lip and he wants to stop, he should stop, but she only tells him to keep going, and it's fast and hot and awkward, and it's over before he knows it and they're lying in a sweaty heap on his bed, muggy May air drifting in and out of the open window sluggishly.

He grunts, face buried in the crook of her neck, and he tells her he loves her for the thousandth time, and she smiles and reciprocates, and he really does, you know, _love_ her.

"You're my girl, yeah?" They're dressing, now, and she turns, and there's a fine sheen of sweat covering her face from what they've done, and she smiles and nods, and he wishes it had been better for her better for the both of them but she doesn't regret it, so how can he?

He only loves her, and kisses her softly, and tells her that, and she responds in the like. "Good prom?"

Smiling, she slips her fingers into his. "The best."

_xxiv_.

He curls his fingers around hers, and she smiles slightly, head resting on his pillow. It's hot today, balmy for early June, but the air conditioning blasts, and his house is actually pretty cool today. She scoots closer, fingers slipping down his neck so they rest just against his collarbone. "We should do something," he says, and she only yawns, eyes fluttering closed.

"Mmm," she hums, "nah."

"C'mon. It's our first day of summer and we're gonna spend it napping?"

"We weren't napping five minutes ago," she murmurs coyly, popping one eye open. A smile stretches her lips.

"No," he agrees as his fingers dance along her ribcage, "but we _should_ do something."

"Do you really believe that?" She stretches out her _really_, knotting her fingers in his tousled hair. The sunlight filters through his curtains at a dangerously obtuse angle, though, and he will not give into her.

"Yes. C'mon, babe, let's go –" She presses her lips against his open mouth. "Rachel, please, I'm hungry."

She sighs. "I hate you."

"You do not." He sits up and rakes his fingers through his hair.

"I do. Because of you, I have to brush my hair, put my dress—"

"You're being overdramatic." They're almost fully dressed. "Either you feed me, or I rebel and go on strike."

"Strike?" She cocks an eyebrow and crosses the room, arms winding around his waist.

"Yep." His hands rest on her shoulders and slip down her back.

"And what does that entail?" She unwinds herself from him and steps into the bathroom adjoining his bedroom. "Can I use your brush?"

"Yes!" He tugs a clean shirt on. "And the typical things strikes have. Protests, picket signs, hunger strikes."

"I thought the whole point was that you were hungry and striking against that. Isn't a hunger strike counter-productive to your point?"

"Rachel, I'm breaking up with you." She only laughs.

_xxv_.

She sings in the car, along to the radio or sometimes, the old Fleetwood Mac CD that's been in his car since his dad owned it. Rachel only squeezes his hand at that admission, and says nothing in response. He likes that – loves it, actually – about her. She's nosy at all the right times.

"_Baby, let me hand you my love_." Her voice lilts high above the open window's drag, long strands of hair whipping across her face. She's so happy, grinning and running her fingers all over his hand, tracing veins and dipping the pad of her index finger in the canyon between his knuckles.

They always talk about road trips, how one day they should just take off and _go_, but they always end up at this lake on the very outskirts of town. He loves it all the same, and a lot of times, Kurt and Blaine and some other of their friends join them, and he spends the day with all the people he loves.

But he likes the days it's just them even more, when they run into the water and float for hours. There, she paints her dreams on an imaginary canvas, first drawing in herself and her dreams on her back in hues of blue and purple and then, he joins in, fiery and red, and he knows she'll miss him if he's anywhere but by her side.

He'll miss her, too. "I want to go with you."

"Where?" She asks, wet arms hooking around his neck. He holds her delicately around the waist, smooth, bare skin a flat plane beneath his calloused hands.

"You know. New York. London. Wherever you're going, I want to be there."

"I want you to come with me," she says, and now, her chin lies against the very edge of his sternum, wet lips brushing against the base of his neck. "To New York. You need a dream, though. What do you want to do?"

Be with her. "I don't know. What am I good at, besides football?"

"You're patient, and the kindest person I know." He smiles and kisses her, long, sweet, and slow, and the water is cool, but the sun beats warm on their wet heads. "Are you passionate about football?"

"Yeah," he sighs, and he frowns at the slight ache in his knee that comes about every so often. He loves football the way she loves singing. Maybe, "Could I be a coach?"

She tugs on her bottom lip pensively, before a slow smile curves her mouth. "Finn, I think you'd be just about the best coach in the entire world."

_xxvi_.

Their last night of summer ends slowly, waning like the moon as it crawls higher and higher in the night sky, sending the sun below the belt of the horizon. They're silent as night falls, curled together on the hammock slung between two trees in her backyard. He sighs against her shoulder. It's been such a sweet summer; he doesn't want it to end.

He's apprehensive about where this year will take him, and them. She is, too, he can tell from the periodic tenses in her posture. "We'll be okay, right?"

Her brow furrows. "Of course."

Still, he is going to miss Fleetwood Mac and nights spent curled beneath the sheets in her bedroom, or the lunch break visits at work, and the lake. He'll miss it all, but looks forward to helping Coach Beiste with the team, and seeing Rachel lead the school play. And he's excited to graduate and grow up, but scared at the same time. But he thinks he could probably conquer the entire world as long as he's got Rachel by his side.

_xxvii_.

He really loves her. Like, _really_ loves her. She's the greatest person in the world, he thinks, like, she deserves a million awards. She makes him a better person, and vice versa. Sometimes, he wonders if she knows just how deep his feelings for her run, like she's a part of him. But she must know, and must reciprocate, or he wouldn't feel so tethered to her.

He gets into a school in New York City, and nearly faints when he reads _congratulations_. Honestly, when he started high school, he didn't see himself heading this direction, but he knows that his dreams lie in New York, right with Rachel. Burt tries to convince him to stay in Lima, stay in Ohio, but he knows that, though he would excel, it just wouldn't be living.

Rachel is one of the best things in his life, but not the _only_ good thing, and he thinks that's a good balance. Kurt is coming to New York, too, and the three of them can probably save a fair amount of rent by splitting between the three of them. So, yeah. Their plans are going pretty well.

They lie around a lot on Saturday afternoons, after their separate morning errands and nightly activities, some of which are together, others not. But Saturday afternoons are purely theirs. Most of the time, they lie in one of their rooms, just talking and linking fingers and limbs.

"I really love you," he tells her as the onslaught of his thoughts wane. "I mean, really. So in love."

She laughs in that way that he knows is teasing, and not mean, and Rachel is ruthless, but he thinks she probably doesn't have one purely mean bone in her body. "You're okay, too, you know."

It's funny, really, that _he's_ the big softie in this relationship. She's fairly reserved about how she feels unless need be, and he kind of likes that about her. "Rachel," he sighs.

"Oh, stop," she rolls her eyes, pressing her fingers against his pectorals, "you _know_ how much I love you."

He laughs, this time, and brushes his nose against hers. "I think Eskimo kisses are my favorite," he mumbles, "'cause, you know, like, think about us as Eskimos, with our faces all wrapped up and all that's visible is our noses."

"Super cute," she deadpans, but she's smiling, and he knows she sees his point, and gives him a _real_ kiss. "I like these, too, though."

"They're all right."

_xxviii_.

"Can you believe it?" She presses her face into his chest. "We're high school graduates."

His stomach churns, anxious for what comes next. Scared for the impending future. "Rach, there's something I want to say to you."

She sits up, crossing her feet beneath her so that they no longer dangle off the edge of the bed of the truck. "Are you breaking up with me?" She's smiling, and the question is not serious.

"No," he rests his fingers on her thigh, tracing around the hem of her pink dress. "I kinda like you."

"That's assuring." She covers his fingers with her own, and leans up to press their mouths together. He sighs against her lips, leaning back on his elbows as she climbs atop his lap, fingers curling in the collar of his dress shirt.

"Rach, baby girl, wait," he murmurs, tugging his mouth from hers, "I really wanted to talk to you tonight."

They're at the lake – their lake – and the sun has just crossed the horizon, painting the sky a hazy shade of navy with swirls of violet at the very bottom, pinpricked with dots of silver. He could live here forever, staring up at the starry night sky with his favorite girl resting against his chest.

"Okay, talk," she insists, turning and facing him.

He has a speech prepared, but she's looking at him now, all sweet and earnest, and he just blurts out, "Will you marry me?"

She swallows hard and licks her lips, eyes locked with his. "Um." She blinks. "Well, uh – I –"

He's pulled out the ring, now, and holds it between them. "I know it's not much—"

"It's perfect," she breathes, clutching the small velvet box in her hands. "Can I…can I have some time?"

He feels his heart sink into his stomach. He can't look at her.

"Finn," she says softly, "it's not _no_."

He licks his lips, smiles a little bitterly, and runs his hands down her arms. "Let's get you home."

_xxix_.

She falls asleep, curled against his car door, and she doesn't wake when his car lurches into her driveway. With a quiet sigh, he picks her up and carries her inside gently. She doesn't awake until he's tucked her into bed, bleary-eyed and smiling, and she pulls him down for what starts as a sweet kiss.

Suddenly, she's slipping her shirt over her head and tugging him on top of her, closer and closer until he's inside of her, hipbones pressing into hers very, very gently. She's got tears in her eyes, and he worries he's hurting her. "Are you okay?"

Her collarbone muffles his words, but she threads her fingers into his hair and kisses him hard, and so he moves a little faster, awarded with her soft moans of pleasure.

Her voice is breathless when it manages, "I love you," just as she comes, and sends him tumbling after her. Her breathing is heavy as she curls beneath the covers. "Stay," she insists sleepily, winding an arm around his center.

"I can't."

"Is it because of the proposal?"

"No." He kisses her forehead. "It's because your dads are home. I'll see you tomorrow, okay, baby?"

She sighs and presses her mouth against his sloppily. "I _love_ you." Her eyes are half closed, and she's steadily drifting to sleep.

"I love you, too."

_xxx_.

They're lying side by side, not talking on the hammock in her backyard, when she tells him she'll marry him. They do that a lot, actually – not talk, that is – as June melts into July's gooey, humid puddle. And he's so elated at her decision that he nearly flips them over n the hammock. Honestly, he just _really loves her_.

"Can we wait a few years?"

He kisses Rachel. "I'd wait forever."

He smiles when he hooks the ring on a silver chain and loops it around her neck, mouth against the nape of her neck when he clasps the tiny silver ends. She turns and kisses him, and they stand in his room just kissing.

_xxxi_.

Packing is hard. And, because they're fiancés, Rachel determines that he must help her pack. Which is just her excuse to boss him around for eight hours on a hot Saturday. "You're a fucking hoarder," he murmurs, jerking out box after box from her closet.

"Watch it," she scolds. "Be careful with that box!"

"Why? What's in here?"

"My Broadway playbills."

He's flabbergasted. "Excuse me?"

"What?"

"You have a box marked fragile dedicated to a bunch of _paper_?"

"Hey!" She's in front of him, now, stabbing his chest with her index finger. "I didn't mock you when you pulled out your baseball cards and explained to me the worth of every single one and why you won't sell them!"

"Those are worth something, Rachel! What's a bunch of paper worth?"

She gasps. He glares. She jerks the box from his hands and pouts on her bed, facing away from him. He sighs and sinks onto the bed beside her, winding his arm around her thin shoulders. "I'm sorry."

Rachel turns, bottom lip pushed out. "I don't believe you."

"Baby," he toys with the end of her ponytail, "you've got to. I'm being _so_ honest."

"Yeah?" He resists the urge to roll his eyes.

"Totally."

They wind up distracted, on the floor, hours later. Not by each other, but by her old childhood books, from _Where the Wild Things Are_ to _Oh! The Places You'll Go_. She opens the latter over both their laps, fingernail tracing the words as she reads aloud, "Congratulations! Today is your day. You're off to Great Places! You're off and away!"

He pulls one from the middle of the stack and begins to read to her, this time, turning to the very end. "Then he lay down close by and whispered with a smile, 'I love you right up to the moon – and back.'"

Rachel kisses his fingers. "You're going to be a good dad, you know."

"Only because I'll have the best mother in the world as my partner."

He kisses her on the mouth, fingers curving along her jaw. His other hand settles at her waist, slipping beneath the tee shirt material and rubbing her skin the way she likes, little circles with the pad of his thumb.

_xxxii_.

Their first night in the city is totally weird. He feels like they only just began high school, only just kissed at that party, but now they're living together in New York City, Finn and Rachel (and sometimes Kurt) against the world. She still wears his ring on a chain around her neck, and he still has her name imprinted on his heart.

"You two are _nauseating_," Kurt mutters disdainfully over breakfast before their first day of classes. "I'm going to vomit all over my toast if you don't stop."

Rachel just rolls her eyes. "Kurt, all I'm doing is sitting on his lap."

He glares pointedly at Finn's hand, slowly making its way up and down the bare expanse of skin. Grunting, Finn holds up both his hands. "Sorry, dude."

"Don't be scared, Kurt!" Rachel slides off Finn's knee and kneels beside Kurt. "You're going to make tons of friends at college."

"I know," he grumbles, sipping his milk. "Come on, Rachel, we've got to catch the subway, or else we're not going to make it to our eight-thirty classes. Say goodbye to lover boy, and let's get a move on."

She pouts as she hugs Finn around the shoulders, pouts still when she kisses him goodbye. "Love you."

He kisses her again as she tries to pull away. "Love you way more."

She turns and glares. "We _aren't_ arguing about that! I have a class!"

"Truce."

"Bye!" Kurt yanks her out of the apartment, impatiently tugging on the cuff of Rachel's sweater until she moves a little faster.

College is so totally weird. But he likes that most people are genuinely interested in the courses, and most of them are friendly, too. And he catches a lot of girls' eyes on him, but he doesn't really pay them any attention when he's got Rachel. He knows boys look at her, too. When she visits him for lunch, his friends all stare. But she only pays serious attention to him.

So, yeah. College. Totally cool.

Until it isn't. Until he's got so much work piled up that he can't ever imagine seeing the light of day, and the apartment is packed with stress, between him, Kurt and Rachel, he can't help but imagine someone's head popping off in the middle of the night from how much pressure is built up in such a small space.

But he learns time management, and eventually, things cool down so that he's only a little stressed, rather than the extreme worry he'd experienced for a good two weeks before Thanksgiving break. Now, he finds pleasure in the simple things: banana bread, Rachel's body curled atop the comforters when he comes home late from work, or Kurt's meticulous cleaning of the bathroom. They make things work, the three of them.

_xxxiv_.

A clap of thunder and a torrent of rain wake him from his slumber weeks into their second semester of college. Eyes closed, he stretches his arm across the bed, searching for Rachel. But the other half of the bed is empty, a little cool, even, and he begins to worry.

He finds her curled on the window seat, head leaning against the window. He settles behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. One of her fingers traces a raindrop as it runs down the window, disjointing towards the bottom of the glass into a pool of rain that settles at the window's base. When he speaks, his voice is quiet, "Are you okay?"

She doesn't say anything for a long time. Three claps of thunder later, she finally says, "I'm scared." She tucks herself so that the crown of her head resides just beneath his chin, and pulls a throw blanket over their knees.

"Why?"

Her tongue darts out of her mouth, swiping along her bottom lip nervously, before she answers, a little shakily, "I don't think I want to be on Broadway."

"But—but Broadway's been your dream forever," he sputters.

"Finn, I don't think I love acting and dancing the way I do singing. Plus, I don't want to have a job that relies only on my voice, which is such a transient thing. I mean, look at Julie Andrews. I don't want to end up like her, not able to even sing at _all_."

"Is that the girl with the teeth? _Pretty Woman_?" She laughs and shakes her head, angling her head so her mouth brushes against the underside of his chin.

"Hmmm, you're all prickly." She yawns. "And that's Julia Roberts. Julie Andrews is_ Mary Poppins_."

"Oh." She kisses his jaw, this time, scrunching her nose at the scruff that's settled there. "Baby, let's go back to bed."

She climbs onto his back and he carries her into their bedroom, where she wraps herself in the blanket. "C'mere," she murmurs, crooking her index finger before opening the blanket.

She licks her lips as he settles behind her, chin on her shoulder, arms around her middle, and she kisses his hand before closing her eyes. "I really love you, Finn."

"I know, baby," he mumbles, half asleep, now, "I really love you, too."

_xxxv._

He's sleeping, body curled around Rachel's, when Kurt bursts into their room, flooding it with yellow light. Kurt shakes his arm, as if the intruding light hadn't already roused him from sleep. "What, Kurt?" Finn snaps, squinting against the harsh yellow as Rachel burrows under the covers.

"It's—my dad—he—heart attack," Kurt stutters, and it's clear to Finn that he is in shock. His body switches to autopilot, packing a suitcase for him and for Rachel, and pulling Rachel from bed when everything is gathered. She's sleepy, but does not succumb to the exhaustion tugging her eyes, and switches between comforting him and Kurt.

He's never loved Rachel more than when she curves against his side and tells him she loves him, or when she murmurs sweet words of comfort to Kurt. Still, he feels like a robot, guided by the highway's never ending pavement, his heartbeat tuned with the engine as the ball of his foot presses more firmly into the accelerator.

Kurt's strong, too, but completely loses it when they reach Burt's hospital room, hours and hours and hours later. Rachel's hands squeeze Finn's in her hands, hip curved against his. "Oh," she gasps, one hand resting over her mouth as Kurt holds onto the wall for support, and Finn feels the walls closing in on him, the seductive lure to leave rearing in his stomach, and he nearly bolts, but Rachel keeps him grounded, her thin arm winding around his waist.

Later that night, tears well in his eyes as he tries to fault. Rachel's got her chin propped on her hands, splayed across his chest, and she kisses the side of his mouth as tears overflow, and he's determined to be strong, for Kurt, for his mother, for himself. But Rachel doesn't need him to be strong for her, so he lets his façade drop, composure slipping from his elusive grasp, and he holds her close and cries.

Rachel cuddles a little closer to him, as Burt's health wanes then increases, suddenly, and unlike most nights, when she inexplicably rolls out of his grasp, he wakes up with some part of her in his arms. Usually, it's her fingers, threaded through his. One morning, they wake up around the same time, and silently, she coerces him into showering with her.

When they shower together, she does this thing where she hugs him, slumps on his chest, and subsequently falls asleep beneath the steaming spray. But this morning, she doesn't do that, only washes her hair in silence. It's not until she's conditioning her hair that she speaks. "Life's so short, Finn."

"Mhmm," he hums, screwing his eyes shut so no shampoo runs into them.

"I don't want to wait anymore."

"For what?"

"Finn, I want to get married. Now. Tomorrow. As soon as possible. Please, Finn."

"Ex—excuse me?"'

"You heard me. I just want you. I don't need a fancy wedding, or a swing band. I just need you, and me, and a promise to love one another for the rest of our lives. So, what do you say? Will you marry me tomorrow?"

A rush of elation shoots through him so fervently, he picks her up and hugs her tightly, which of course turns into him pressing into her and making her come against the shower.

_xxxvi_.

He's imagined marrying Rachel since he was nearly sixteen. And, in the week since she's proposed an early wedding, his imagination has sketched out millions of coal scenarios on the blank canvas of his mind, but nothing black and white compares to the effervescence of _really_ marrying her.

It snows on their wedding day, dusting the streets and grass the night before, and by the time he wakes up (alone), the world is blanketed with white. The snow is illuminating, pure, and he smiles as he pictures Rachel's prim dress echoing the exact shade on the ground.

The day whirs past, and suddenly, Rachel enters the courtroom, arms hooked with her fathers', eyes trained on him. And, _oh_, he loves her. His heart thrums as she draws closer, beating wildly when she's in front of him, fingers slipping into his.

He doesn't remember much but for _I do_, and just like that, they're married, and Kurt and their parents (even Burt, who's miraculously survived his heart attack) and a few old friends from high school all cheer as they kiss, finally pronounced man and wife.

_xxxvii_.

The soft groan of the door's hinges and the click of the lock tell him Rachel's just gotten in from work, or studying, or whatever he does to occupy her time these days. He stares at her through half-lidded eyes as she stumbles about the room, confused by the darkness, and too caring for him to turn a light on.

His half opened eyes are trained on her as she pulls her dress over the top of her head, and she hangs it before meticulously placing all his clothes that have wound up on the floor into the hamper.

She takes care of him, and he loves her for it. She's been acting odd recently, but he chalks it up to a junior year slump. They've had their fair share of marital problems, but she's never been so distant from him. Usually, he understands her better than anyone, and is able to read her face as easily breathing. But now, it seems, her emotions are put under a padlocked door, and she won't give anyone – especially him – a copy to the key.

"Hi, honey," he says softly as she slips into bed, feet cold as they brush against his. "Where've you been?"

She kisses his palm. "Work."

He trusts her. "Love you."

"Me, too." And he's back asleep in seconds.

But the distance, the secrecy persists, though she isn't out so late anymore and comes home at the usual times. Still, he knows she is keeping something from him, and when he wakes up to hear her retching in the bathroom, he knows _something_ is up.

"Rachel," he sighs, brushing her hair out of her face. "What's wrong?"

She's got tear-filled eyes when she responds, "I'm pregnant."

_xxxviii_.

They can handle it, this baby thing. It's totally inconvenient, yeah, but they've got each other to help out, and Kurt and his boyfriend, too, have offered assistance if needed. So, this whole parenting thing, Finn and Rachel can _totally_ do it.

He's kind of excited, even, fingers brushing over her flat abdomen as they watch bad reality television shows. They share a small smile, a silent agreement that everything is going to be okay. Like, it'll be _so_ hard but they can do it. They've gotten through lots of things together and survived. They've each lost their dreams and found new ones, all the while holding one another's hands.

But what he isn't prepared for – what _they_ aren't prepared for – is the loss of their child. It's a gray February day when he gets a phone call from an unknown number. He's got to get to class, but he answers the phone regardless.

"_Mr. Hudson_?"

He's never really called that. "Yes, this is him. May I – may I ask who's calling?"

"_This is Christine, I'm a nurse – we have your wif—_"

He interrupts, feeling his stomach drop to the ground. "I'll be right there, what hospital?"

_xxxix_.

He's never seen her look like this before, small, pale, weak. The only indication of her life's presence is the steady beeping of the heart monitor beside her. He wills his mouth to form words, but his tongue fails him. He sits beside her, lacing his fingers with her cold, limp ones, pressing his mouth against her knuckle.

The doctor hasn't told him what happened, yet. Upon bursting into the emergency room, he'd demanded to see his wife. And here he is, fingers locked with hers, staring at her peaceful face.

"Are you Mr. Hudson?" A man in a white coat walks in, reading something off a clipboard. Finn turns abruptly, furrowing his brow.

"Yeah."

"I'm Dr. Mason, nice to meet you." No, it isn't.

"Can – can you just tell me why my wife is here?"

"Yes, of course. She was in class, and fainted – there was quite a bit of blood, so some classmates called an ambulance."

His heartbeat quickens, what feels like three beats faster than the steady four count of Rachel's heart echoed in the heart monitor. "I – um – the baby?"

The doctor sighs, and adopts that plaintive expression that Finn knows means that they've lost their baby. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hudson."

"Will – can she – " He can barely get out the words, and he hopes the doctor can understand.

"Yes, her fertility shouldn't be severely affected by the miscarriage." Finn feels the weight lifted, but is still weighed down by melancholy, and he's so, _so_ sad.

Later, she wakes up, and without being told anything; she knows what's happened. "Finn," she murmurs, with tears in her eyes, and he kisses her softly, because they can get through this, he knows. "Finn, I'm _so_ sorry."

"There's nothing to blame," he promises. "It's – it's not your fault."

She closes her eyes, and turns away from him slightly. "I'm…I'm tired," she mumbles. "You can go home. Sorry you missed your classes."

_xl_.

The worst part about this whole…_thing_ is that he has no idea how to help her. He's hurting, too. They're married – they're supposed to get through this kinda stuff together, but as soon as she's come home from the hospital, she shuts him out. If she was distant and busy before, she's in a completely different time zone, now. She avoids him, avoids their Saturday afternoons, ignores his phone calls as he's walking to class.

She won't kiss him, either. Refuses to curl closer to him while they sleep, and when they _do_ spend time together, it's fleeting. He just wants his wife back, wants to hear her singing in the shower and telling him about her day. And now, it feels like not only has he lost his baby, he's also lost his wife, and that realization nearly brings him to his knees. How does he get her back?

He devises a plan to ambush her before she leaves for class one morning. Her classes are always in the early morning, his in the afternoon, so she often wakes up hours before him and gets ready. So, one morning, he wakes up minutes after her. She's brushing her teeth when he gently knocks on the bathroom door, and jumps when he pushes through. "I knocked," he explains, sitting on the edge of the closed toilet.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" Her voice, muffled with toothpaste, is a little cold.

"No." He stares at her, unrelenting, until she finally turns away.

"What do you want? I need to shower."

She's given him the perfect window to bring up the issues standing in their marriage. "I want my _wife_ back."

"I'm right here," she says. She leans down, spits, and wipes her mouth, staring at him, brows furrowed. If he weren't so good at reading her face, he'd believe her façade, but he knows her too well. "Right here," she repeats.

"Rachel, you know I can read you better than that."

Her face falls, and her smiles flips upside down, face folded in on itself in sadness, and he's horrified as sobs rip from her throat, and he pulls her into his lap. "I'm so sorry, Finn," she whispers in a tear-choked voice. "So, so sorry."

He forgives her, of course. He's always going to love her, even when she shuts him out, because if he abandoned her, he'd never forgive himself. But what he loves the most about her is her independence, and he's always going to love that about her.

He cuddles her against his chest, rubbing her back in the way that she likes, and they curl on the couch. "Do you still love me?" She whispers, and he knows she only wants him to say the words to her.

"Of course I love you," he tells her, just as lowly, "and we'll get through this, okay?"

_xli_.

And get through it they do. They deal in their own ways, but she stops shutting him out and no longer refuses to talk to him. If anything, she's more willing than ever to tell him how she feels.

"I want to drop out of school," she says over dinner, and he nearly chokes on his glass of water.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm just…in a rut."

"Babe, you need to stay in school." She wants to be an elementary school teacher. She'll be phenomenal. "Just…for me?"

"Finn." She sits in the chair beside him, grasping his hand in hers. "I—I want another baby."

"We—we can't afford that, Rach," he says softly. "Just wait, please. Wait till we've got our jobs, 'till we've graduated."

She pouts. "But I can get a job if I drop out of school!"

"We're not in a good place, Rachel. Look, we're almost done with our junior year of college. Just wait two years, 'kay?"

She sighs. "Okay."

_xlii_.

Before he knows it, they've graduated college, and he's got a job as a football coach lined up at a high school in the suburbs of New York City, so he and Rachel pack up their tiny apartment and move into a small house that costs them nearly all their savings. But it's on its way to being theirs, and Rachel smiles in delight as they paint their bedroom together.

And it's not much, this house, but they love it. They're adults now, more so than in New York, married with jobs, and he drives her into work every single day and picks her up. The boys on the team, too, are great. It blows his mind that they're only a few years younger than him and he's in charge of them.

Not only are they fairly tame for a group of high school boys, they're pretty good players. He has a few problems with some of them, partiers whose parents forced them into football so they'd learn discipline. Those are the boys he struggles most with.

And, when those kids start skipping practice, he finds himself in a bit of a catch-22. He doesn't want to be _that_ coach, that yells at his players, but he's wrought with memories of only succeeding when Coach Beiste yelled and put the fear of God in them. He brings up the problem to Rachel one night, when they're lying in bed. She's working through a lesson plan, he's trying to make up plays, and his problems just blurt out of him.

"Well, baby, maybe you should make them listen."

"I don't know how."

"You could appeal to their parents, if the problem persists. Or…"

"Or, I could take them outta the game. You're terrific, did you know that?" He leans over and smacks a kiss right on her lips. She smiles against his mouth and scoots a little closer, her hands slipping under his tee shirt.

"I have a lesson plan to finish," she sighs as his fingers unbutton her pajama top, mouth pressing all along her bare chest.

"Fuck it," he murmurs, and she threads her fingers in his hair, pulling his lips back to hers.

_xliii_.

He's coached his team to state semifinals, and he's so overjoyed when he and Rachel get home, he pulls her into his arms and twirls her around. "Slow down," she laughs, squeezing his shoulders.

"What for? Babe, we're going to _states_!" He puts her down anyways, and kisses her hard.

She pulls away, hands resting on his face, smiling when she says, "And _we're_ having a baby."

If he weren't holding her close, he'd have fainted. He's _so_ incredibly elated, all he can do is kiss her again and again and again. "You're sure?"

"I went," she sighs as his fingers trail up her thigh, "this morning to the – the doctor. Confirmed."

"_Good_," he murmurs, and kisses her again.

He traces the universe on her skin, with his fingers and his mouth, and she calls his name like music when his fingers find the junction of her thighs, and he nearly falls off the edge when he pushes into her, bursting with electric feeling that when he comes, it sends him spinning, Rachel alongside, calling his name all the while.

After, he cuddles her against him, and she's smiling as she rests her head in the crook of his neck. "We can do this, right? This whole parenting thing?"

He smiles. "Yeah. Yeah, baby, I think we can."

"Good." She's been waiting for two years, of course they can. "You're going to be the best daddy in the world."

"You think?" He kisses her nose. "I think you're gonna be an incredible mom."

"We're going to be such cool parents," she says softly.

"Hell yeah, we are," he agrees. "The absolute best."

_xliv_.

They lose State. The boys are caked with dirt and sweat, somber in the locker room. Finn looks at his assistant coach, who raises his eyebrows at him. "Guys, I want you to know how proud I am of all of you. You fought hard to the finish, and that's what matters. All right?"

"Yes, sir!"

He smiles a little sadly. "See you guys in the spring." He's a little sad as he exits the locker room, but Rachel's standing there, waiting and, "Have you been crying?"

"Shut up," she mumbles as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, "I'm pregnant. You're a damn good coach, Finn, just like I knew you'd be."

"You think?"

"Yes. Now, take me to get food. Your baby is making its mother extremely hungry."

"Yes ma'am!"

_xlv_.

She's five months along, stomach round and swollen, when they go to find out the sex of their baby. Except Rachel keeps flopping between wanting to find out the sex and not, and as they drive to the doctor's office in Finn's old truck – he should really get something safer for his baby – she is adamantly against ruining the surprise.

"But, babe, five minutes ago—"

"Five minutes ago I considered eating your hand I'm so hungry, so I wouldn't trust any past judgment of mine."

That's pretty fucking gruesome. "Honestly, Rachel—"

"Shh, Finn. The more you talk, the more your hand being my lunch becomes a reality."

"You're fucking nuts." She glares and punches his thigh.

"Your baby is doing this to me!" He glares back. What a drama queen. She puts on a smile, though, and unties her hair from her ponytail. "Now, let's stop fighting. You know I hate when we squabble."

She kisses his cheek, and he can't even stay mad at her for something as asinine as this. He won't tell her, but he's vying for a little girl with her brown eyes and her hair, and he knows she's secretly vying for a little boy. But he's got a feeling they're having a girl, a little ballerina or singer just like her, and it's probably selfish of him to want another Rachel running around, but he can't help himself. When they go to Target to pick out things for their registry, he finds himself staring at the little tutus and pink socks before Rachel tugs him to the gender neutral section.

The nurse calls her name, and she turns and smiles at him excitedly. They've seen their baby before, but Rachel seems to think it'll look different than it did a month ago, and he agrees. She's certainly gotten bigger in the past month. "Do you think you'll find out the baby's gender?"

Rachel answers before he can, "Yes."

"Rachel? You literally _just_—"

On tiptoe, she hisses into his ear, "Shut the fuck up, Finn, I swear to _God_."

Okay. That's unexpected, but whatever. He kisses her temple and squeezes her arm, even if she's a little testy, he loves her nonetheless. She clutches his hand as the doctor's appointment proceeds as always, and finally, they're seeing their baby on the ultrasound monitor.

"Wow," he murmurs, and Rachel is crying as she always does when they see her baby, and he squeezes her hand to calm her.

"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Hudson, it looks like you're having a beautiful baby girl."

"A girl," Rachel cries, "you were right – for once."

He laughs and kisses her, and, yeah, okay, he might cry a _little_ but he just loves his two girls so much, what else is expected? "I'm _always_ right," he murmurs. "I love you."

She holds both his hands in hers. "I love you, too."

_xlvi_.

"Finn," she shakes his shoulder, trying to rouse him from sleep, "_Finn_, wake up."

He assumes that she wants him to get her something to eat. He slurs, "What d'you need?"

"Finn, come _on_, my water broke!" That effectively alerts him, and he sits up straight in bed.

"What? Huh? Where's your bag?"

"I've got the bag," she explains, pausing to place her hand over her stomach, wincing in pain, "I just need you."

"Okay, okay, okay, let's go, then, are you okay? Do you want a sandwich?"

"No. I want to have our baby."

"You're like, two weeks early, is she going to be okay?" He kneels beside her, placing his hands on her stomach. "Lily, you gonna be okay?"

"Finn, come _on_." She pulls him to his feet and drags him outside, into the new car he's recently bought, a big, black SUV that's sure to protect Rachel and their baby. And so it goes, the drive to the hospital, Rachel's hand clutching and squeezing his.

"I love you, you know?" They're walking in the hospital, now, and he kind of feels like it's an out of body experience, this whole thing, and she kisses him softly.

"That's enough of that, now, I have to squeeze your giant child out of my body."

She must break at least two bones in his hand; she's squeezing it so hard as the hours tick on in that hospital room. It's all a blur to him, because all of a sudden, Rachel slumps tiredly against the pillows and smiles up at him, and their baby's voice fills the room, a sound too powerful for such small lungs.

"Rachel," he breathes, this time squeezing _her_ hand, "that's – that's our baby. Our little Lily."

She pulls his mouth to hers as the doctors clean their baby – _Lily_ – and just as suddenly as she entered the world, she's put in Rachel's arms. "Come here," she says to Finn, and he eases onto the edge of the bed, staring at their beautiful baby girl.

"I can't believe it," she says quietly, "I can't believe she's finally here."

Is it possible to love someone you barely know? _Yes_, he thinks, because isn't that how he got here with Rachel? Hasn't he always loved her, even when she was just a pretty girl in the corner of his house who let him kiss her? And now, they're here, with their own pretty girl, and he's never loved someone so much in his life.

"I love you." He's become _that_ guy, the one who's all mushy at the birth of his child, but like, can you blame him? It's incredible.

"We love you, too," Rachel says, smiling, and kisses Lily's pretty little head.

_xlvii_.

Rachel calls him at work one day, and he's just making up plays before a meeting with the athletic director, "_Finn! Lily said her first word_!"

"No she did not. Did you video tape it?"

"_Yes_!"

"What'd she say?" He can't believe he missed it.

"_Momma_," she preens, and her voice carries a familiar edge of gloating covered up by happiness.

"You win this round," he sighs, "but the next one is for sure gonna be mine."

"_We'll see. We'll see you at home, okay_?"

Sometimes, he can't believe that Lily's almost two years old, or that he's been coaching at this school for three years, bringing the team to three state championships. He's always been happy, in high school, and college, all punctuated with Rachel, but being married, now, with their baby, is something else altogether. He's never been more in love with Rachel than he is now.

Things are just _good_. They don't have much money, but they don't really need it. Mostly, they're happy.

His favorite part of everyday is coming home from work. Lily's begun to recognize cars, and can spot his from down the street. She's always got her face pressed against the front window when he comes home, and she's the first person to greet him everyday.

"Hi, sweet pea," he exclaims, scooping her into his arms. She begins to babble, tucking her head beneath his chin. "Where's Mommy?"

She points straight ahead, which could mean the kitchen or the living room. He finds her in the kitchen. "Baby, you didn't have to make dinner," he greets, slipping one arm around her waist and dropping a kiss against her cheek.

She shrugs. "I don't mind."

"Do you need some help?" She shakes her head, and kisses him again.

"No, just play with your daughter, now."

_xlviii_.

He teaches Lily how to read one rainy morning in the summer before she starts preschool, pulling out Dr. Seuss and _Where the Wild Things Are_. Rachel is out for the day, helping Kurt with something in the city, so he curls on the couch with Lily in his lap, book opened on their lap.

He grasps her hand, index finger tracing under the words as he reads aloud, "The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play. So we sat in the house all that cold, cold, wet day."

Maybe this isn't the best method. She looks pretty confused, with her brow furrowed cutely, she looks just like her mother. "D'you understand?"

"Daddy, I don't even know_ letters_."

"That's Mommy's job. Okay. So." He begins to teach her letters, and this is what he loves about teaching, the expression of complete enlightenment on her face when she understands sound and letters.

But the rain persists, and eventually, Lily falls asleep, curled beneath his chin. Her breath is even, quiet, and he finds himself tumbling into sleep along with her. Hours must pass, because the next thing he's aware of is Rachel's hand on his face, waking him up. "Wake up, baby," she says softly, smiling when his eyes flutter open.

"Hi," he mumbles. "Fuck. What time is it?"

"Don't swear," Rachel chastises. "Lily's right here."

"Oh. Wake up, sweet pea." She lifts her head groggily and grins excitedly at Rachel.

"Mommy, you're home!"

"Mhmm. I was hoping Daddy would make dinner for us, but apparently, you two have been sleeping all day."

"Sorry, Rach."

"I'm just teasing, Finn. We can order in."

He's still groggy and pulls her against him on the couch. "Let's just lie here for a little longer, hmm?"

This is all he wants out of life, these two girls forever and ever.

_xliv_.

"What is Mommy wearing today?" Lily inquires, swinging her little legs back and forth.

"She's still sleeping. She's so lazy."

"_Daddy_," Lily scolds, "Mommy has a very important job, and it involves much more talent than you!" He'll never tire of the way she speaks to them, just like Rachel, and it's so amusing to him that sometimes, he can barely contain his laughter.

"Sweet pea, why do you want to know what Mommy is wearing today?"

"Because I wanna be pretty like her on my first day of school."

His heart melts, and he squeezes her cheek gently. "You're just as pretty, Lily."

"I want to dress like Mommy."

That, of course, is how Lily's baby book ends with two pages of her and Rachel dressed identically. It's a phase that lasts well into her school years, ending in first grade. But Lily never stops adoring her mother in that sweet way. Many stormy nights are spent curled in his and Rachel's bed, her sweet voice singing the both of them asleep.

Soon, Lily stops asking them to tuck her in and read her a story, and he nearly falls out of bed when she _doesn't _push open their door during a storm. It's a hard adjustment for him to make, her growing up, and he's so wrapped up in that, and Rachel, and the team, that he barely even thinks of having a second child.

But they're still young, and of course, sexually active as ever, so it shouldn't surprise him as much as it does when he wakes up to Rachel vomiting in the bathroom. It must be the flu, he tells himself as he tucks Rachel back into bed and kisses her on the forehead.

Lily is concerned. He's concerned. Rachel rarely gets ill. And it shouldn't surprise him when, a week later, she kisses him hard when he walks in the door, and stands on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, "I'm pregnant."

How could he be anything _but_ happy? He twirls her around and kisses her again, and Lily's tugging at his pants leg asking what's going on. She's tall for being in fifth grade, and he wonders if she'll be short, like her mother, or lanky like him, and prays that she falls between the two extremes.

Finn sets Rachel on her feet and crouches before their daughter. "How would you like a little brother or sister?"

She furrows her brow. "I don't want a brother."

"Okay." She hugs him, though. "Are you…"

"I think we should name the new baby after me, right, Mom?"

Rachel laughs and ruffles her dark hair. "We'll see, Lily."

Time gets away from him, and the next nine months rush by, and he's suddenly got a son, little Christopher Finnegan, and Lily's in the sixth grade and is going to dances and boy-girl parties, and he isn't _ready_ for all his, for his baby to be growing up while their baby boy is just entering the world and learning and it's sort of a sick cycle, this whole parenting thing, and he should've told Rachel years ago that he wasn't ready for this kind of thing, because suddenly, Lily's learning to put on makeup and wasn't she just learning to walk? To read?

He gets an offer for a job in Texas. He's been working in this school for so long, and he and Rachel discuss extensively before finally deciding to make the move.

Lily's entering her freshman year early, after skipping a grade early on, and _fuck_, isn't freshman year when he met Rachel? Or was it sophomore year? She tells him it was sophomore year.

But it was early in the year, and he still felt like a freshman, and he warns Lily to be _careful_ and watch out for those football players. The same ones he now coaches.

"You're an incredible coach," Rachel tells him as they drive to school. Chris is strapped beside Lily in the backseat, babbling to her about the gremlins and goblins on the side of the road. Finn stifles his laughter and turns to Rachel, slipping his fingers into hers.

"I love you."

She smiles. "Yeah, you'd better."

"Ugh," Lily groans from the backseat, "_gross_. Can you two, like, not?"

They roll their eyes. Lily's getting into _that age_, now. Chris, meanwhile, just sticks his foot in his mouth. "Chris," Rachel scolds, turning and tugging his foot out of his mouth, "get your foot out of your mouth."

He blinks and laughs. "Yes, Momma."

Rachel smiles and squeezes his little fist.

_xlv_.

He winds his arms around Rachel's waist. It's early in the morning, a Saturday, and they're cooking breakfast together as they so often do. Lily's sleeping, out late on a date with a boy from Finn's football team named Rick. Rick. What a douche name.

Rachel reminds him it's a very nice name, and Rick is a very good quarterback for only being a sophomore. A sophomore! Ha! When he was a sophomore, he was much more than a good quarterback; he was also sniffing around Rachel's house just like Rick is doing to his daughter.

"Finn, she's going to grow up," Rachel tells him quietly. His hands drift lower and lower on her body, until she has to move them. "Chris is in the living room."

"I don't want her seeing Rick."

"Well, Finn, she's probably going to date him whether you like him or not. She really, really likes him."

"I'm her father! Don't I get a say in this?"

"No, you don't, Finn, and that is sort of the entire point."

"I love you, you know that? You're always right."

She smiles and turns in his arms; brushing her nose against his in their traditional Eskimo kiss. "I sort of remember you saying that to me once."

"Hmm, I was wrong," he hums, pressing his mouth against hers. "Very, very, very wrong."

_xlvi_.

The summer before Lily's sophomore year is hot, muggy, and he's lonely, working hours away at a temporary college coaching position, and he doesn't know why he took it with his family so far away. He manages to make it home every week, and it's so clear to him how much Rachel misses him, and he misses her more than he can bare, but he's too proud to admit defeat.

Chris is growing so much, and Lily, too, but the little girl who once dressed like her mom every single day has become nearly unrecognizable to him. According to Rachel, she spends all her time with an older crowd, much older than Rick and the football players, and he's so concerned.

One night, he gets in much later than planned and the house is silent when he manages to make his way in. Chris and Lily are asleep, but the light in his and Rachel's room is still on, glowing beneath the door, and he's fairly concerned. She usually falls asleep long before Lily. Something must've happened.

He pushes open the door, and Rachel's head snaps up from where she's lying on the bed. "Finn."

He smiles. "Hi, baby."

She's been crying, and he sinks into bed beside her, arms wrapping around her body. "I've missed you _so_ much."

"Me, too, Rachel. I love you so much."

She sigs and repeats the sentiment. "Lily told me she hates me tonight."

"What?" He sits up. "I'm going to smack some sense into that girl."

"No," she halts him, grasping his wrist. "Don't bother, I already yelled at her. She's been _awful_ this summer, Finn. I think she misses you."

"I miss you, and Chris, and Lily. We'll get through this."

_xlvii_.

Rachel begins to work as a music teacher and guidance counselor at the high school. He thought he'd hate having Rachel there, but he loves it. He gets to see her during the day, something they haven't had since college, excluding weekend, of course. Chris is in preschool, now, and the added income is nice, especially as they begin to save for Lily's college fund.

Lily, of course, is behaving better. She'll always be a little stubborn, a little feisty, after all, she takes after her mother.

The years find them many compromises, and many times Rachel has made better calls in dealing with the booster club than he ever could. She'll always be smarter than him. Suddenly, Rachel's consoling Lily through a breakup with her boyfriend, who's left for college and didn't plan to leave her behind, but wound up doing so anyway.

"I thought he really loved me, Mom," she cries, all curled against Rachel's small frame. He'll always be amused by how much taller she is than Rachel.

"Daddy?" Chris sneaks up behind him, holding a juice box in his hands. "Why can't I sit with Mommy?"  
>"It's Lily's turn, kid." Chris pouts, so Finn picks him up and carries him into his room. "Let's read, yeah?" <em>Where the Wild Things Are<em> is his absolute favorite, and always jumps up and down and all around when Finn reads about the rumpus.

He winds down as his favorite part comes, and he brushes his nose against Finn's and reads with him, "I'll eat you up, I love you so."

"Let's get to bed, Wild Chris." Delighted, Chris laughs and snuggles into bed as Finn tucks him in. "I love you so."

He kisses Chris's cheek and he repeats the sentiment, and falls asleep as soon as Finn shuts the lights off.

_xlix_.

"I'm so in love with you," Rachel sighs, snuggling into his side. It's the night of his tenth consecutive state championship (although at different schools), and they've spent the night after the parties celebrating together. "Still. After so long."

"You're my girl, you know?" She smiles and kisses his neck. "I am so proud of you."

He's just in love with her now as he was when he was a sophomore in high school, and their marriage is just as strong as it was the day they up and decided to marry. He remembers all those days he spent thinking about their hearts bounded together, and wondering if the cord would ever weaken, and his stomach warms when he realizes it's only _strengthened_ through the years.

If he could, he would tell her everything right now, about how he loves her from the top of his head to the tips of his being, every single part of his body loves her, his fingernails and his skin cells and his kneecaps all love Rachel. He wants to tell her how she's made him better, continues to make him better, about how he respects her and is completely in love with her, but it's all stuff she already knows, so instead, he runs his fingers over her body and kisses her slowly, letting it smolder like coals burning in a fire before catching fire.

"I'm in love with you completely," he murmurs in between kisses, "and that's never going to stop."

_l_.

Lily's getting married. Lily is engaged. Lily is nineteen years old, and she's engaged to the boy she dated in high school and who left her when he graduated and now, they're engaged and how is Finn supposed to give away his baby?

"Finn," Rachel warns as they drive to dinner with the engaged couple _his daughter is engaged_, "remember that we were engaged at eighteen."

"Yeah, well, I loved you a hell of a lot more than he loves her."

"You don't know that, Finn." He glares at her. "Don't act like I'm _happy_ about this, but we really don't know how he feels about her. God knows Lily is certainly tight-lipped about that whole aspect of her life."

"Yeah," he grumbles, teeth gritting as he parks and takes Rachel's hand. She leads him into the restaurant, and Finn has to stop himself from strangling the kid all through dinner. Rick. Ha! What a name. He was a shitty quarterback, after all, barely won them any games.

That, of course, isn't true, but he pretends it is nonetheless as they eat and Lily tells him and Rachel all about the proposal. "I just…I love Rick. And I want your support."

"Oh, honey," Rachel sighs. "We love you, you know that. But you're just so young."

"No one says we're getting married tomorrow. And, hey, you guys got married even younger than us. Rick is twenty, I'm nineteen. We're adults now."

"Adults!" Finn scoffs. "Yeah, sure."

Lily glares at him. "I just really love you two, and you guys are my inspiration, your compromises and –"

Rachel excuses herself and walks away from the table, upset which is probably only visible to Finn. So he, too, excuses himself and follows Rachel's path outdoors, where she stands at the edge of the pavement, arms crossed in front of her. "What's wrong, babe?"

"We were so young," she says softly. "Don't you think we're being hypocritical?"

"Yes. Rightfully so. I'm sure our parents felt the same way, but we didn't care, did we?"

"Exactly. We didn't care. Finn, we can't stop her from being engaged, or from loving Rick, so why not accept it? I don't want to be cut from her life, Finn, over something as silly as this."

He sighs and hugs her tight. He'll never tire of holding her. "How'd you get so smart?"

"Baby, I've always been smart," she teases, and he wipes her tears. "We are pretty inspirational, aren't we?"

"Oh, yeah," he agrees, turning and heading back in the restaurant. "I'd say so."

* * *

><p><strong>things i do not own: glee, fleetwood mac's 'hold me', <em>the cat in the hat, oh! the places you'll go, where the wild things are, guess how much i love you,<em> my**** soul**-

**as always, dedicated to my soul mate rachel xox pls review love and other drugs**


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